


Six Views of a Snowglobe

by tenser



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Five (Six) Times, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, M/M, Pre (and Post) Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9906443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenser/pseuds/tenser
Summary: Beyond the walls we build around ourselves is love. If, like Yuuri, Victor had a moment when he realized love was all around him, there were stepping stones to that realization. Five moments on Victor's journey to breach the walls around him, and what he found beyond them.





	

Snow is falling in heavy white flurries outside the rink. The snowflakes are wet, and they flutter slowly down, flocks of them cascading in a tumbling freewheeling mess towards the ground. Victor never sees them land—the wall of the rink slices off the bottom of the horizon into mystery. But he knows what’s there; he’s seen it a thousand times as he’s walked into this practice rink that’s more a home than his real house.

He struggles to remember the concept for when things disappear when they’re out of sight. It’s a scientific word, long and elegant and precise—but its sounds escape him. 

He lets the word go, and skates to the feeling of it. Long, elegant strokes of his blade skimming over the perfect canvas of the mid-morning ice. He feels the whiteness of it, and something playful. This feeling of something being there but not, disappearing but with the optimistic possibility of rebirth. His fingers twitch with the energy of it, as if he’s touching meaning. Shaping it with his motions. 

“QUIT MESSING AROUND!” a familiar voice bellows from across the rink. “You’ve been skating in circles, Vitya! Practice your double!”

Victor sighs and his hands fall limp, the illusion fading. 

Coach Yakov is so strict and well, coachly. He knows when Victor’s mind is wandering. His shouts are deliberately grounding. 

With a skidding slide that sends up frosty spray, Victor comes to a halt at the curved end of the rink. Hands at hips, hands raise. Pump of his thighs, forward. Once he has speed, he jumps. 

It’s white, twirling white. 

Again and again, effortlessly, he builds his own flurry in the snowglobe that Yakov constructed for him. 

***

Victor is so excited. 

Joy bubbles up from inside him like spring water until he’s smiling wide and effervescently. 

In the locker room, not ten minutes before, he kissed a boy he liked. His first kiss tingles on his lips, and he brushes his fingers over them in pure satisfaction. The sensations had been incredible. Even though he has his own lips, which touch each other all the time, the feeling of someone else’s lips against his was so soft and intimate and wonderful. He simply cannot stand it. 

He’s itching to skate this feeling, so although he’s already left the rink, he heads back in. The younger skaters are leaving to partake in whatever schooling they can, and the older ones taking to the ice, so he winds his way past his rinkmates back in. He’s already got one skate pulled out of his bag when he sees something unsettling. The boy he kissed is standing very straight and talking to Coach Yakov. His hands are wound together in deference behind him. Yakov is bending over, listening intently. That quiet attentiveness is the most unsettling part. 

Victor senses something is wrong. He needs to leave. The skate is shoved back in the bag and he walks more briskly than he’d like out the door. 

There is no choice but to return to the rink the next day. He senses Yakov’s strictness in the air, like a dark, sharp aura. It’s carving away what’s left of Victor’s formless euphoria, making into a sharp thing, which then digs into the tenderness of his heart. 

He endures it the whole practice, the dread eating into him. Finally skating ends, and he's eager to buck the unpleasant feeling with a quick exit.

“Victor,” Yakov gruffs. “Where do you think you’re going?”

As the other kids file into the locker room, Victor stamps off his skates and stands in front of the mountain of a man who is his coach. On a normal day Yakov has a lot of presence, but today it’s near god-level. Victor can’t bear to look up. He stares at the scuffed leather shoes. He can vaguely smell onions. 

“Sit down and wait for the others to leave. And take your skates off!”

Confused, Victor obeys. 

He sits in the stands a few feet away. He can’t help but peek at Yakov, who stares stoically off towards the rink. The dread grows heavier in Victor’s stomach.

Once the last skater leaves and silence falls over the rink, Yakov turns around and addresses him. 

“In the locker room, you fool?” Yakov shouts.

Victor hangs his head in shame. It’s exactly what he feared, and an emotion he’s strangers with, guilt, rears its head. He looks dejectedly at the floor. There’s nothing Victor can say in his defense. He liked it. He thought Georgi liked it. He was so happy. He doesn’t want Yakov to impose another glass wall around him. 

Suddenly Yakov is close, his heavy body bending the old wooden stands with an audible creak as he sits down. He lets the silence hang before sighing.

“Vitya, I worry about you,” Yakov said. 

“What?” Victor is so surprised that he raises his head and sees the sincere expression on his coach’s rough-hewn face. That wasn't what he expected to hear. Yakov isn’t one to express gentle emotions, at least not without the accompanying tough love. 

“You’ll have to be careful, Vitya. Your talent will forgive many things, but if you want to do things like that with boys, don’t do it here!” Yakov gets a bit worked up toward the end, which emphasizes the point.

Victor nods. 

Then, calmer, Yakov adds, “I don’t care, do you hear me, Vitya? I don’t. It’s common enough for skaters. Just learn to be careful.”

Victor looks up to see an expression he can’t even believe. There’s so much gentleness and sadness on Yakov’s face. He can’t begin to understand what those emotions are doing there and what he did to cause them. It honestly terrifies him. 

“I won’t do it again,” Victor vows.

Yakov frowns. “You idiot boy, do you listen?! I said to be discreet, not to forbid yourself. Never forbid yourself, Vitya!”

Victor nods vigorously, once again feeling like this is all going over his head. 

“Okay, get out of here, go home,” Yakov grumps. 

Victor never kisses Georgi or other Russian skaters again. But taking Yakov’s advice, he doesn’t forbid himself and he does kiss _a lot_ of other boys. 

***

There’s a string of good—great—years in Victor’s early twenties. 

He is a gifted skater who dances on the ice like a painter, coloring the frozen water with art. He’s bursting with creativity, narrative and passion. The skating world validates him over and over, with medals and love. The loves are fleeting but intense, just like the competitions themselves, but they sustain him. 

Russia grows with him. The Soviet era that he was never really a part of is disappearing, and although St. Petersburg trades on its pre-Soviet cosmopolitan history, the signs of new life and industry pop up in shops, like fresh plant shoots rising through a carpet of debris. It’s openly acknowledged that the new rink that replaces the decrepit one he trained on is the government’s direct reward for his achievements. He’s proud and happy. 

But as his twenties wear on, the glittering ice and arenas begin to feel like a beautiful but cage-like snowglobe. He leaves more and more, traveling for skating and sponsorships, but he can’t seem to escape. 

The crack in the dome, unexpectedly, comes from Christophe. 

They’re sitting around at a nice café before the European Championships, drinking coffee. They’re catching up, talking about Chris’s recent trip to Lake Geneva. Anticipation is pooling in Victor’s gut about their customary hook up. He’s been looking forward to it for weeks actually and now that Chris’s happy, comforting presence is leaning against him as they flip through the pictures on his phone, Victor can’t wait until they go back to the hotel. He usually prefers to wait until after the competition to sate his desires, as does Chris, but this time he needs the warmth of another body desperately. 

Victor’s hand is on Chris’ strong, tight thigh when the picture comes up. It’s no longer pictures of the lake and scenic mountains, but Chris with another man. He’s got shaggy brown hair, looks frankly sort of plain, and Victor has never seen him before. 

It’s not just one picture. He's in several others, including one where he's fitted happily underneath Chris’s arm. 

“Who have you been hiding?” Victor jests, though his grip on Chris’s thigh both lightens and strains at the same time, if that’s possible. 

“We met at the club a month ago,” Chris coos. His tone is very warm. “We hit it off immediately. He’s just amazing once you talk to him. He knows _sooo_ much about music and dance.”

“He looks so…normal,” Victor pouts. 

“I know, but… Victor, I think he might be the one,” Chris says. He doesn’t mean to be hurtful, Victor can tell from the softness, the hope, in Chris’s voice. He’s showing this to Victor because he values Victor and wants him to be part of his life even off the ice and even outside of their hook ups. 

But it hurts anyway. 

And they sleep together anyway, but it hurts. 

***

There’s a new skater in the junior division. He’s spitfire and driving Yakov crazy. 

One day Victor sees Yakov literally tearing (what remains of) his hair out while the kid sasses at him. Victor giggles and Yakov turns the brunt of his anger at the older skater rather than the younger. As if Victor was the easier target. 

He has to pout about that, but starts paying more attention to Yuri Plisetsky. 

Much to his surprise, he finds himself interceding on Yakov’s behalf and acting like a mentor to little Yuri. It’s astonishing to him that he even has it in him—everything he’s ever done before has been for the joy of his own creations. But Yuri fascinates him. He’s nothing like Victor was, and yet he’s so much like Victor that he can’t help but want to shape him.

Victor still travels a lot, so every time he returns to St. Petersburg, it seems like Yuri has grown more, both in ability and attitude. 

And Yakov looks older. 

There’s a stoop to his mountainous form, and a slowness to his movements that concerns Victor. And he’s got so many lines it’s like his face is the skate-scarred rink in the late afternoon. 

Whether it’s out of love or anxiety, Victor does something that once might have seemed impossible. He invites Yakov to dinner. It’s a nice restaurant, an older one. Victor knows Yakov's tastes and knows he'll like it—he hasn’t practically lived with the man for his entire life for nothing. He also knows that Yakov is single and has been for many years since his divorce from Lilia. 

“You never treat yourself, do you?” Victor says charmingly over the first course. It’s a fish soup, and there’s wine already loosening his tongue. Much to his delight, Yakov is drinking as well. It’s a relatively rare sight.

“How can I when you’re always treating yourself? What’s your whim this time, Vitya?”

“I had an ulterior motive but I forgot,” Victor jokes. “So just enjoy the meal.”

“I will,” Yakov says stubbornly. 

They sit in silence for a while, doing as advertised. 

“Can I ask you something?” Yakov says. 

“Of course,” Victor replies, relieved to not have to start the conversation.

“Why are you coaching Yuri?”

It isn’t the question Victor expects, and it throws him. 

“Am I doing that?”

“Yes!” Yakov shouts. “You give him pointers and instructions. You’ve never taken an interest in the younger skaters before. Or in teaching anyone. You should be focusing on your own skating. This is not like you.”

“Am I good at it?” Victor says, intensely curious. He leans forward, waistcoat brushing against the tablecloth.

“Not bad,” Yakov admits. “But why are you doing it?”

“Like you said, it’s a whim,” Victor smiled. “Now I’ll ask you a question. Why didn’t you tell anyone it was your 69th birthday today?”

Yakov stiffens. 

Then he digs into the next course as it arrives—fluffy mounds of potatoes and some vegetables. As he looks at his food, Yakov replies. “I never expected you to notice, Vitya.”

Victor is about to retort with something funny when he suddenly catches the undercurrent. There’s something there, the shape of something sad and immense—something too large to shape into forms on the ice. 

He feels his mood souring. 

“You’re changing,” Yakov says, filling the silence. 

“I have to keep people surprised,” Victor said, a stock phrase thankfully popping into his head. It’s not what he feels at the moment. What he feels is—

Yakov scoffs. 

What he feels is so sad—

“Thank you,” Victor says sincerely. 

Yakov chokes, swallowing his mouthful of food. He coughs and wipes his mouth with his napkin. 

“Don’t make a habit of that,” Yakov sighs. 

Victor nods. He’s not even sure what came over him. Why he felt so much gratitude to his coach now, after all these years. 

“Not much of a birthday if you’re just here to make yourself feel better,” Yakov said. “Just do what you’re going to do anyway, like always.”

“Oh, but I’m paying for dinner. That’s worth something to you, isn’t it?” Victor smiles. 

Yakov grumbles. 

After they amiably part ways on the street, Victor feels empty. 

***

Yuri is this fire burning next to him. His pale blond hair doesn’t do his spirit justice, because the passion burning inside him is the most brilliant fire Victor thinks he’s ever seen. 

He thinks he can coax and bend that fire better than Yakov, whose criticisms seem only to fall on deaf ears. At least Yuri will give Victor noncommittal noises instead of blatant defiance. Why that success gives him pride he doesn’t know. 

It’s like everything is coming together, showing Victor the path he has to walk. He realizes he loves Chris in his own way, and Chris still loves him. He realizes he loves Yakov and he loves Yuri too. He loves the skating world. He's won five world championships. He's giving pointers to a younger skater. What he should do is retire, live and love, and train others to share this love. 

He begins constructing a new short program to express this love. There’s an arrangement he’s known for some time that captures the agape of familial love and deep affection.

...But he can’t bear to live that story.

And so he begins constructing a second short program. It’s a story of casting one choice aside for another. About taking a selfish, unexpected path. It sustains him. Everyone sees him practice it, but no one can suss the story out. 

He’s on the cusp of deciding to use it when Yuuri Katsuki presents a third path he hadn’t even considered. Yuuri Katsuki could skate this forbidden narrative for him. A few Google searches later, he realizes he could be relaxing at a Japanese onsen while it all goes down. Plus cute, anxious Yuuri’s been on his list of potential crushes since the drunken banquet at last year’s Grand Prix Final.

_Why can’t I have it all?_ Victor thinks selfishly. _Life, love, coaching and competition?_

And against Yakov’s vociferous protests, he does have it all for a season. 

*** 

“Happy Birthday!” Victor shouts, in unison with Yuuri, Yuri and the rest of the Russian skate crew. 

Yakov freezes as he enters the rink facility, clearly not expecting popper and streamers and a pathetically scrawled Happy Birthday banner. His eyes go wide. 

“What are you doing?!” he shouts. “Get back to practice!”

“But you’re 70 years old now,” Victor chided. “You should celebrate.”

“Yeah, geezer,” Yuri adds.

As steam starts pouring out Yakov’s ears, it’s Yuuri Katsuki who makes placating gestures. “Now, now,” he says, in that milquetoast sort of way that Victor has come to patently adore. “We just wanted to say congratulations. And here’s a gift from my family.”

Victor brims with pride as his fiancé—something he can hardly still believe is real and openly acknowledged—hands Yakov a bottle of nice Japanese sake. For his troubles he gets a hairy eyeball from the stubborn coach, but the gift is accepted, and Victor draws them all into a hug. 

The snowglobe Yakov constructed is broken, but the more Victor wanders beyond it, the more his world fills with glorious flurries of love.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Yakov&Victor trash.


End file.
